The Secrets We Keep
by SinsofMidnight
Summary: Part 1 of my "Secrets" series (inspired by Alphonseelric22's "Love in Silence"). Roy gets drunk on the anniversary of the Ishval Civil War (or, as Ed likes to refer to it, the Ishvalan Massacre) and Ed takes care of him. But will Ed be able to resist when Roy, whom he has desired for a long time, comes on to him? Extensive cirtus-y content. Has been extensively revised!


**The Secrets We Keep**

**_Fandom: _**_Full Metal Alchemist_

**_Teaser:_**_ "He won't even remember in the morning, so what does it matter? I'd rather hold him once than never hold him at all."_

**_Inspiration:_**_ This fic was inspired by and is a companion piece to Alphonseelric22 's FMA fic, "Love in Silence"._

**_Rating:_**_ M because no one can spell alchemy without it!_

**_Warnings:  
_**_-Yaoi  
-Alcohol  
-Druken Roy  
-Questionable sex  
-Denial  
-Lies_

**_Main Pairing: _**_Edward Elric / Roy Mustang_

**_Minor Pairings Mentioned:  
_**_-Maes Hughes / Gracia Hughes_

**_Setting: _**_Pretty cannon setting, but definitely an alternate timeline. And, there was no smut in the anime(s) :P_

**_POV: _**_It's almost entirely in Ed's POV, but there's one little part that's in Roy's. First person perspective for both._

**_Summary:_**_ Roy gets drunk on the anniversary of the Ishval Civil War (or, as Ed likes to refer to it, the Ishvalan Massacre) and Ed takes care of him. But will Ed be able to resist when Roy, whom he has desired for a long time, comes on to him?_

**_Additional ANs: _**_A few helpful facts: Ed is 22 and still has his automail (and he can still do alchemy), Roy doesn't have the eyepatch (nor has he lost his sight), and Maes is still alive. Need any more proof that this isn't cannon? :P  
This most recent update (January 2013) features some changes. There are some changes to the sentences, some to the grammar, some to the structure… The entire story has been updated to reflect my current level as an author, which has progressed greatly from the original version of this story, which contained my very first male/male scenes. As such, one scene has seen some dramatic editing and changes: the shower scene. There were some details which were incredibly unrealistic, and I changed them to reflect what would be true in such a situation. So buckle up, batten down the hatches, and enjoy this extensive edit of "The Secrets We Keep"._

**_Universe:_**_ This is part of my "Secrets" universe (which also includes the story written by Alphonseelric22).  
This story is part one, and comes after "Love in Silence" by Alphonseelric22 (which is the prequel)._

**_Word Count:_**_ 9322 words that came from over a week straight of editing! Hope it's all worth it._

* * *

_Ed:_

"Roy, you're drunk. C'mon." Hughes tried to drag the raven-haired man away from the counter at the bar, but failed.

The drunken man, known in his usual glory as the Flame Alchemist, swatted Hughes' hands away. "Not drunk enough," he murmured.

I touched Hughes' shoulder, and drew him a short distance away from a rather intoxicated Roy. "Head home, Hughes," I told him. "I'll stay with him."

"But isn't Al waiting up for you?"

"No, he's not," I told him. "I'll make sure the Colonel doesn't get into any trouble. Now go home to your family."

A pensive yet concerned expression crossed Hughes' face. "You don't know how he gets when he's drunk."

I waved it off. "I've served under him for how many years now? I've see him drunk before" –_although he intends to get trashed tonight-_ "and I promise I can deal with it. Go."

Hughes reluctantly left, pausing to look back at me almost every step of the way. Truly, I wasn't so sure I could handle a drunk, depressed Mustang, but I knew Gracia would worry until Hughes stepped through their door. I turned back to the entirely too attractive man who was still at the bar, nursing another tumbler of whiskey. His onyx eyes were clouded with guilt and anger, two emotions that rarely crossed them together.

_If all the women who make fools of themselves over him could see him now,_ I thought, _they'd run away in terror._ His eyes were stormy with emotion and his slightly shaggy hair kept drifting into his eyes, making my fingers itch to brush it away. He slumped over the bar, the tumbler of whiskey cradled in his hand. As he lifted it to his lips, I envied it.

The shape off his mouth, his pink lips, the flush after he bites them, all of them served to enthrall me. The grace of his gate, his sculpted chest, his snide remarks, all of them seemed to make me long for him even more. It was cowardly, but I was too frightened to confess my desires, because I didn't want our relationship to change. The bickering and insults had lately become companionship and conversation. I didn't want it to become awkward, or even go back to as it was before. I'd come to appreciate his wisdom and insight, and I didn't want to lose the part of him I had to call my own.

I sat down beside him and he muttered my name in recognition. I pulled the empty glass from his grip.

"Hey!" he growled.

"Come on," I told him. "Let's get you home. You can keep drinking there, but we don't want to have to explain why the Flame Alchemist is puking his guts up in a bar."

He chuckled at that and rose unsteadily to his feet. I took his arm with my automail arm. With my other hand, I dug out my wallet and paid off his tab. _Damn, man! You drink a shit-load of whiskey!_

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Well, I can't just leave you here, especially after I promised Hughes I'd stay with you," I remarked, pulling him out the door. The bar Mustang had chosen for tonight was only three blocks from the apartment I shared with my brother, but it was across town from Mustang's home. So I led him to my apartment, thinking, _He's really drunk. He'll pass out soon._

"What are we doing here?" he questioned in his smoky, silky voice.

"My place is closer."

"Al doesn't need to see me drunk," he said, pulling away.

I held on tightly anyway and unlocked the door. "Al isn't home," I told him. "He's visiting Winry. Come on. I have whiskey."

"Aren't you too young?"

I laughed. "Mustang, I'm 22."

He laughed, too. "I don't know how I forgot."

I was nearly his height now, had been since I hit 20. I missed my shortness sometimes –though I would never admit it, considering the complex I had developed because of it– because it had always offered me a magnificent view of his chest. I took a deep breath. "Come on. Let's go into the living room." I led him to the couch and he sat down. "Stay. I'll be back shortly."

I walked into the kitchen and heaved a sigh of relief. _I didn't know it would be this hard!_ Drunken, disheveled, sexy Roy Mustang in my living room was incredibly hard to resist. I needed more self-control than ever not to jump him or fuck him. I flushed at my thoughts and grabbed two glasses out of the bottle of whiskey from beneath the sink. The tight restraint of my leather pants over my now-hardening cock was painful, but at least it wasn't as obvious as it would have been in, say, jeans or even the military uniform slacks. I strode back into the living room, glad I had a relatively high pain tolerance. "I come bearing drinks," I announced.

He had, during the time I was in the kitchen, taken off his books and lost his shirt to my floor. "Ed," he murmured, looking up at me. His onyx eyes swirled with emotion and emptiness.

My mouth went dry, and the hard ridge in my pants became harder. I nodded in acknowledgement and shakily poured whiskey into the two glasses. I handed him one. "Are you alright?" I asked, my soft tone laced with concern.

He looked up at me, those majestic eyes stormy with guilt and anger. "No. I'm not," he admitted.

I had to force back the urge to hug him and kiss him. I wanted him to forget the things that troubled him so, at least for a few minutes. Somehow, I restrained myself. Nodding at him, I sat down in the chair across from the couch. "I'm here for you." I took a long drink of my whiskey, feeling it burn and tingle all the way down.

"Thank you." His soft voice wrapped around me like smoke.

I knew what memories like his were like. I knew a lot about the Ishvalan Massacre itself, having spent a lot of time with Marta and dealt with Scar. Personally, I understood how and why Mustang killed there. The major problem of being a "dog of the military" is that you have to do as they say. I knew firsthand how awful it is to be forced to do something you consider wrong, but Mustang had been forced to kill the people of Ishval, only to find out later that the people were completely innocent. The guilt always ate him up on the anniversary of it, which was why he smelled like an open bar: tonight was the anniversary.

"I should have taken a stand against it."

"You'd have been court marshaled and rotting in a jail cell," I replied bluntly. "You did what you had to do, and you hate it."

His eyes went wide. "Have I ever sent you off to do something you hated?" he asked softly, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass.

I laughed, aware it sounded hollow. "Lots of times, actually. But they were nothing like Ishval. The worst was leaving Al at Central when I went to talk to Scar."

His eyes seemed empty and glassy. "If I ever try to send you to something like that, hit me."

I smiled fondly at him. "You're drunk. You need to sleep it off."

He frowned at me. "I'm serious, Ed."

I gave him a crooked smile. "I'll refuse to go and end up court marshaled, you know that. Or I'd quit." _Well, I wouldn't quit, because then I wouldn't get to see_ him_ every few days,_ I thought, _but he gets the point._

His eyes widened and I realized he was a very literal drunk. "Don't quit, Ed."

"Like I have any wriggle room with the contract you made me sign." I smiled at him. "I was kidding. I don't know anything other than alchemy, anyway."

He relaxed and I crossed the room, taking his glass from him. "You are seriously toasted, so you'd better stay here tonight." I felt my lips quirk into a smile. "Wait here and I'll bring you a blanket."

"You're so pretty when you smile," he murmured, leaning forward and capturing my lips with his.

Stunned, I couldn't even move. The man I'd wanted –no, _craved_- for years was kissing me. His lips lingered over mine until I responded, tilting my head and opening my mouth to him. His tongue slid past my parted lips, gently coaxing my tongue into action. His taste –like wood smoke and whiskey and ginger– lingered heavily on my tongue, like a tangy wine.

It shouldn't have surprised me. I was the closest body and he desperately wanted to drown his pain in any way possible. Considering how drunk he was, he probably wouldn't even remember a bit of it. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to make him stop plying me with kisses, nor could I bring myself to stop responding to his soft lips over mine.

Reason somehow intruded through the haze of sensation and I drew back. "No." I stepped away, needing to put some distance between us. I hurried for the kitchen, managing to snag our glasses along the way. I set them in the sink and took a shaky breath.

_Damn me_, I thought. How could I have been so careless? How could I not think he would come on to any warm and willing body? He didn't feel anything for me. He was depressed, drunk, lonely, and vulnerable, and I was the only person he knew for blocks. I was just astounded when he'd kissed me, stunned to feel him growing hard against me.

I heard his footsteps behind me. Steeling myself against the body I knew I'd see, I turned around to look at him. Moon-pale skin stretched across his muscular chest, making me long to leave little purple love bites across it, to mark him, to _claim_ him. My gaze trailed up his neck to look at his face, those perfect pink lips, that slightly aquiline nose, those barely-slanted almond-shaped eyes, then the ragged jet-black silk of his hair, his bangs just long enough to fall into his eyes.

He strode to me, his gate projecting desperation more than his casual confident grace. Forcing me backward until I was plastered against the wall, he leaned in and captured my lips again, his mouth hot and desperate against mine. Unable to resist him, I gave in and returned the kiss with everything I had. _He won't even remember in the morning, so what does it matter? I'd rather hold him once than never hold him at all._

My hands slid across the wide planes of his chest, down his ribcage, to his firm stomach. My hands stopped at his waist, mostly because if I went any farther, I had a feeling we'd desecrate my kitchen.

He had been leading in this whole situation, just taking charge of everything like he always did and leaving me to follow instincts and orders. However, _I _was the sober one, the one who knew the territory. I fought the urge to tell him "My home, my rules" and instead, I took charge. Using delicate teasing kisses, I coaxed him down the hall and into my bedroom. Then, I kissed him hard, shoving him onto my bed and climbing on top of him.

I slowed down only then, to allow myself to take my time, memorizing every detail of his chest with my flesh hand and then with my mouth. He let out a little moan when I drew his nipple into my mouth. Unable to suppress my smile, I suckled and nibbled on him until he squirmed beneath me, his hands on my shoulders, his nails scoring the skin through my shirt. Once I was satisfied, I moved to his other nipple, repeating the process. His needy growl escalated my own need, making me even harder –something that, until that moment, I had doubted was even possible.

With great effort, I drew away only to hold myself above him and _look at him_. I doubted that I would ever see anything more beautiful in my life time. His pale body stretched out and resting against my black comforter, his ragged breaths puffing past pink lips flushed from my kisses, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with lust, his nipples dark and slightly swollen, a purple love bite blooming on his shoulder where I had marked him as mine, even if only for tonight. "So beautiful," I murmured, lowering my head to nibble on his earlobe.

His moan was sweet, more beautiful than any music to my ear."Not fair," he panted, tugging at my shirt.

_Goodness, how childish of him, _I marveled, even as a wry smile twisted my lips. With a soft sigh, I surrendered to his demand and let him push my shirt up to my arms. Pausing a moment, I finished removing the shirt before returning to my previous –and very pleasurable– task. Nipping and nibbling on the tender skin of his neck –the place where his pulse throbbed against his skin– summoned a _glorious_ low moan that sent shivers through me when I _felt_ it through my lips. _Looks like someone has a nice sweet spot,_ I mused with a smile.

He shifted us, completely reversing our positions so that he resting on top of me. He took his time, as well: expertly leaning my sensitive places and the secrets of my body. I was about mad with desire and need, which translated to me practically writhing beneath him. When he gave sensation, it was intense. When he didn't, it made me all the needier.

When he bit my shoulder, by where my automail connected to my flesh, my entire body went slack. My back arched into him and a keening, desperate sound slipped out past my barely parted lips as I dug my dull nails into his back. The look on his face was smug, as though he'd been waiting to hear that sound from me all this time and he had known just how to illicit such a response. Then he bit me there again. I suppressed a second sound as my flesh fingers speared into the inky silk of his hair.

"Enough," I growled roughly, staring into his eyes and knowing what he saw in mine.

His long, slender fingers released my braid before finger-combing through it. His eyes seemed to become twin black holes of desire, pulling me to him with an intense gravity I could barely fight. Yet fight it I did: I pushed away from him and watched his eyes cloud with questions. I didn't go far: as soon as I had untangled us suitably enough, I shed my boots and socks. He seemed to get the message, since he stood up as well and began to follow suit.

I eased my tight leather pants down my thighs and gravity helped them to my ankles. Roy halted abruptly, his eyes glued to me as though he couldn't get enough of the view. Heat rushed to my face and I prayed I wasn't blushing. With my luck, that would be the one thing he would manage to remember the next morning. The truth of things was that those leather pants really _did _fit like a second skin: nothing could fit between them and my skin, so I went without. This _was_, however, the first time I'd seen such an enthusiastic response to it, though.

I felt his eyes on me the entire time he finished undressing himself, so I thought I'd return the favor. First to go were his boots and socks. I was very pleased to notice he had very cute toes. Next went his pants, which pooled at his ankles and reveled long, moon-pale muscular legs. Next to go were his boxers, and then _I_ was the one who couldn't tear my eyes away from my well-endowed and abundantly aroused superior officer.

_Wow. The rumors floating around Central are true, then._ Since we were both now nude, I climbed back on the bed beckoned him to join me there, which he did rather enthusiastically. The first thing I did was trail my fingertips from his pectorals to his sculpted abs and then down to the dark hair at the apex of his thighs. He growled when my hand brushed against his straining cock.

And then all of the teasing was over. In an instant, I found myself pinned beneath him. I pushed upward, grinding my hips against his. The shock of the sudden sensation was almost too much for me. Out of breath, I allowed myself mere moments before I ground my hips against his again.

"Mustang," I murmured. "I want you."

He settled his long body between my legs, forcing my legs to part further to accommodate him. Bringing his lips to mine, he kissed me: his lips open against mine, the thrust of his tongue almost desperately mimicking the act we would likely be committing. His warm hand traced the curve of my hip before sliding beneath me to caress the skin of my lower back. My back arched, lifting my pelvis off of the mattress as I moaned wantonly, desperate for more sensation. His finger whispered a light caress across my opening.

"Oh, God…" I whispered.

"Most people just call me Roy," he replied.

I couldn't believe _his _brain was still working well enough for banter!

He placed three fingers to my mouth. I licked them, swirling my tongue around them, coating them in my saliva. Something about the circumstances struck me as absurdly familiar, but I dismissed the notion entirely: surely, I would remember if I'd ever had sex with _him_. He drew his fingers away when he was satisfied that they were slick enough. He claimed my mouth again, one hand sliding down to caress my cock. I hissed, startled enough by the sudden contact that I bit his lip. I lathed the tender flesh with my tongue in an almost seductive manner.

He eased back, breathing hard and needing oxygen. "Jeez, you're huge," he murmured, his hands still caressing me.

I glowered at him. What, had he expected me to be _small_? "Shut up and fuck me, already," I hissed.

A smile crossed his lips. It was his 'I'm plotting something; please ask me how' smile, so I knew I needed to expect the unexpected. I wasn't all that surprised when I felt one finger at my entrance. It slid in smoothly, and I took a deep breath, trying to relax. The second finger soon followed, and I moaned at the sudden feeling of _fullness_. He continued stretching me with two fingers, some of the motions causing little mewls of pain to escape my lips. As if he couldn't bear to hear me sound pained, he pressed his lips over mine and kissed me silent until he slid his third finger in me. I lifted my hips as my head lolled back and then I released a shuddery sound of pleasure.

"What a beautiful sound, Ed," he breathed out, continuing to stretch me.

I shivered against him, a moan bursting past my lips. "Oh God," I breathed. "Mustang."

"Roy," he corrected, his other hand circling my cock and squeezing as he pulled his fingers out of me.

"Roy!"I exclaimed, pleasure coating the single syllable. Amazingly enough, he'd distracted more than just my libido: my common sense had also taken its own little vacation. Glancing around a bit, I found myself incredibly glad I was in close proximity to my bedside table. I had to roll over, away from him, so I had enough brain cells left to open the top drawer. The rest I did by feel, groping blindly around in the drawer until I triumphantly came up with the bottle of lube I kept there.

In sync and in silence, each of us scooted down to the edge of the bed for the sake of better leverage. The change in position placed me directly in front of him and gave me unlimited access to the part of him I had yet to explore, learn, memorize. Forever a minimalist, I squirted what I figured should be just enough of the cool jell into my hand. The scent wafted wantonly into the open room as I took my time touching and caressing him, loving the soft feel of his skin and the sound of his quickly drawn breath when the jell spread across his skin.

"Watermelon?" he inquired, his voice coming from between his clenched teeth and accentuated by the hard pants of his breath.

"I like watermelon," I informed him, flicking my tongue out across the tip of his cock. His soft moan filled the room.

"Ed," he ground out, "if you keep doing things like that, I'm not going to last."

I couldn't keep the smile off of my face when he said that. I had never believed that he would _ever_ admit _anyone _had power over him –let alone _me_. Instead of permitting myself a smart-assed comment or a teasing remark, I rolled over onto my stomach. Ironically, I felt more naked with my ass in the air, despite the fact his gaze had been entirely admiring earlier.

"Are you sure?" His question was hesitant.

I almost smiled. Almost. He'd known me since I was just a brat: he should damn well _know _that I didn't do anything I didn't mean. "Just shut up and fuck me," I growled out. Bending my knees, I pulled them forward –toward my chest– and waited. Would he think better of this? Would his reason overwhelm his libido?

When I felt the head of his cock brush against me, I exhaled heavily in relief. He hadn't thought better of things. I should have recalled his lagging inhibitions, but he still brought out so much insecurity in me. He thrust into me slowly, inch by glorious inch. I groaned at the feeling of him filling me. I'd thought he was large when I'd seen him and when I'd held him in my hand, but my God, he seemed so much larger when he was stretching me and filling me! His hoarse cry echoed my pleasure. Almost teasingly, his hands traced a path from the small of my back, around my hips, dipping forward to wrap around my cock. A moan tore free from somewhere in the back of my throat.

I felt his lips quirk into a smile against my shoulder as he continued to stroke me with delicate, torturous touches. It seemed he had mastered the ability to apply just enough pressure to illicit further pleasure but not enough pressure to give enough friction to push me toward orgasm. Instead, my body acclimated to the distracting level of pleasure he was providing. When my body adapted to his girth so deeply inside of me, I shifted my hips just slightly. A sheering of ecstasy rippled through me and a pleasured sound escaped past my lips.

His response was to continue the motion with short, slow, shallow thrusts. My hands fisted in the sheets as I shifted my hips, trying to encourage him to go deeper, faster, _harder_. My desired rhythm remained evasive for a few moments, but I couldn't contain a low rumble of pleasure as his hand began to pump my cock at the faster rhythm I had practically demanded. It was heaven and it was hell: so much pleasure coursed through me that it ricocheted off every surface, yet the pleasure I sought –the tight coiling of pleasure in my stomach, the moments of prolonged and perfect pleasure– remained stubbornly evasive because of his expert maneuvering. If I'd had enough air, I would have sighed in relief when his thrusts began to pick up speed.

The sounds of sex began to fill the room: the damp slap of flesh colliding with flesh, the ragged breathing, the slick sound of him thrusting inside of me, and noises of pleasure. It was funny: as accustomed as one could become to such sounds, _these_ were particularly arousing. It had something to do with the knowledge of who was inside of me as well as the attentiveness of my lover. I hated to admit it, but _this_ was the most arousing sex I'd ever had, and I had a feeling that it was because it was with _him_.

He changed his angle, working closer and closer to my prostate. The pleasure coiled tightly in my stomach as I tried and failed to control a needy sound.

"Oh God, Roy," I gasped out, "I'm gonna come!"

I felt his lips quirk again as he increased his pace, his hand moving faster on my cock. When his teeth san into the skin of my shoulder, I couldn't contain a wanton moan.

He shifted his angle and thrust _just so_, directly impacting my prostate. Black curled at the edges of my vision before my head snapped back and I roared his name, coming all over his hand. Roy rode out my orgasm skillfully, extending the pleasure-spasms that milked him. he lasted a few more thrusts before coming himself, biting my shoulder to smother his bellow as he shuddered against me. I found the feel of his ejaculation both warm and strange, but then again, it _was_ inside of me, which was something I'd not experienced before. Exhaustion forced him to lean against me, still buried to the hilt inside of me, but I managed to stay on my knees.

It took me a few more moments after that to catch my breath. "Shower," I directed him, my tone brisk and businesslike.

Slowly, he pulled out of me. I winced but refused to make a sound.

"You, as well?" he inquired.

I nodded slowly. "In a few minutes. Go on in," I directed. It had been a split-second decision to join him in the shower –I definitely needed to change the sheets if we intended to sleep on my bed– but it seemed harmless enough. After all, this was my one night—a night he'd never remember we had. I might as well enjoy it to the fullest.

He climbed off the bed slowly and headed for the bathroom. Hurriedly, I pulled the extra blankets and pillows and piled them on the floor. I stripped the sheets quickly and shoved them in the hamper in my closet. The spare sheets were on the top shelf of the closet, so I had to lean to pull them down. It took a few moments to make up the bed again, but all tolled, it wasn't that big of a time-drain.

Once the bed was neatly made up again, I wondered into the bathroom. It wasn't as though he'd dressed again before heading into the bathroom, yet he still hadn't hopped into the shower. I wondered why. Was it because he was unfamiliar with this bathroom? Because he didn't know where I kept the spare towels? Because he was unsure whether or not to wait on me?

He gave me a small smile. "I figured I might as well just wait on you, since you would be joining me, anyway."

I smiled back before leaning over and starting the water. Raising a brow, I looked at him. "I scrub your back, you scrub mine?" I asked innocently before I climbed under the spray, moaning at the feel of the hot water on my back.

His answering smile was all sin as he climbed in, facing me. "If I knew that was all it took to make you moan, I'd have showered with you _ages_ ago." He leaned down to capture my lips with his, his kiss deep and heady and passionate, even as his hands scurried down my now-slick back to cup my ass. I shifted closer to him, my hips touching his. The kiss ended only when our need for oxygen superseded our desire.

"Well, my back is stiff," I replied. "It happens when you spend as much time as I do bent down over someone's handwritten notes or alchemy books. Or when you're getting fucked," I added absently, as an afterthought, my fingers drawing lazy circles around his nipples.

He drew a shuddering breath. "You seemed to enjoy it."

When he pinned me between the wall of the shower and the wall of his chest, all the while holding my hands over the shower head, I couldn't suppress a smile of eager expectation. "I never said I didn't." I stood on the tips of my toes to bring my lips back to him, kissing his lips hungrily, thrusting my hips against his, and swallowing his delighted moan.

He drew me closer, until I was pressed tightly against him. My arms possessively wrapped around his hips as his hands slid through my wet hair as he drew another needy sound from me by nibbling on my neck. "At this rate," I breathed out, "we're never going to get clean."

His wicked smile found its way to his lips again. His wet hair drifted into his eyes and I fought the sudden urge to move it back before I remembered that tonight, I didn't _have _to fight it. "That's what I love about shower sex. Instant clean-up."

I fought back a moan at the image his statement planted in my head. I unwrapped my arms from around his hips and took a small step back from him. Roy gave me a look that asked all of the questions without him ever having to open his mouth.

"We might as well get clean before we get dirty again," I told him throatily. Reaching around him, I grabbed the bottle of shampoo and squirted a blob into my hand. I rubbed my hands together slowly until I generated a lather. Gently, I massaged it into his scalp as the scent of strawberries filled the bathroom. He relaxed and leaned into me to give me better access. I pushed him under the spray long enough for all of the shampoo to wash out while I grabbed the conditioner bottle. I squeezed a glob of conditioner into one hand and pulled him back with the other.

He leaned forward obligingly and I massaged the conditioner into his hair. I rinsed off my hands and commanded, "Stay." He remained obediently and I squirted body wash onto a loofah and rubbed it into it until it sudsed. I proceeded to scrub every inch of his torso, then his hips, his long legs, and then his ass. I dropped the loofah to the floor and played in the suds with my fingertips, drawing designs on his chest, groping his soapy ass just to hear his breathing hitch, and finally taking his cock into my hand and coating it with suds as he growled deep in his throat.

I made him step under the spray once more to rinse off. He leaned over and captured my lips, his kiss hard and betraying the fact that he was on edge. I kissed him back slowly, patiently, until he learned he couldn't hurry me and took my pace as his own.

"Patience," I murmured against his lips, drawing back slowly. I pushed the bottle of shampoo into his hand and he got the message. I couldn't contain a moan when I felt his fingertips deftly massaging the soap into the length of my hair and my scalp. He gently pushed me under the spray and turned to look for something else –the conditioner or the loofah, I assumed. I stepped out from under the spray when the shampoo was out of my hair. He squirted a generous blob of conditioner into his hands and repeated the process again, sending pleasurable little shivers down my spine.

When he bent down to pick up the loofah, I didn't even bother to pretend I hadn't been ogling his ass. I enjoyed his sexy smirk when he caught me staring almost as much as I figured I would enjoy what would come later. He scrubbed me down with a leisurely pace, starting at my shoulders and working his way down to my toes. When he was satisfied with his work, he paused to draw almost alchemaic designs on my skin in the suds, setting my flesh on fire with the sensation. I had a sudden insight to why flames were his specialty: he _always_ liked to play with fire, whether the flames were real or metaphorical. When slick, sud-covered hands grasped my cock, I couldn't contain a breathy noise of pleasure. He pumped my cock twice with his hand before shoving me under the hot spray.

For a man I usually had trouble reading, his last action was incredibly easy to figure out. It was designed to rob me of my control and make me just as impatient as he was. However, he conveniently forgot that life had taught me vast amounts of patience. With a mask that should have made him proud, since he was the king of them, I carefully contained my desire. I took great pains to not let him know that he'd poised me over the same edge he was on, to hide his success from him, unfortunately for him –or perhaps a bit fortunately for him, since I wouldn't allow him to make me reckless in this dance of seduction and lust. I let the hot water wash away the conditioner and his game in the soap before I stepped forward, pushing him against the wall.

He'd dominated in the bedroom and that had been fine –no, more than _fine_– but this was my secret, stolen time and I was damn determined to take charge in here. I slanted my mouth against his, our warm, slick bodies pressing and sliding against each other. A guttural and wild sound rose from his throat and I almost growled for the distinct satisfaction of causing it. Intent on keeping my cool, I refused to move my lips from his. Instead, I maintained a deep, passionate kiss that made it hard for either one of us to think clearly as his hands wandered down my chest like some sort of tantalizing spider. My hands slid down his back to cup his ass, his breathing hitching slightly.

"God… Ed," he groaned out when we separated for just a breath. He too busy desperately seeking my mouth with his to say much else, and I was too busy to say anything when he found it.

I teased him mercilessly. My hands were all over him: tracing the breadth of his chest, teasing the tender skin inside his elbows, dancing in the hollow of his hip-bones, caressing his waist, stroking his hips, playing across the inside of his thighs. Cruel might have been the right word to describe it, since I would touch him anywhere except the straining erection that was pressed against my thigh. I let my wandering hands cup his ass once more before giving it a gentle squeeze. All of the air rushed from his lungs in a hiss before I slid my hands against the slick slope of his hips.

I thought he might cry for joy when I finally let my hands come between us and capture his cock. Instead, he released a loud, unrestrained moan as I played my fingers across his length. Smiling a bit evilly, I dropped to my knees in a single motion. I gave him a moment to take in the sight of me in front of him and on my knees before I licked the tip of his cock teasingly. His expression turned shocked for a single moment before I drew him shallowly into my mouth. Then his expression spoke only of bliss and I had to smile –well, as much as anyone can smile with something that big in their mouth.

Carefully, I pinned his hips to the wall with one well-placed hand. Since I _so_ enjoyed teasing him, I pulled off of him with a slick sound before licking his cock from base to tip as I stared up at him. I felt the shiver run clear through his body and I reveled in knowing the power I had over him. Swirling my tongue over his tip brought forth another wonderful breathless noise. Feeling drunk on the power I had over him, I drew him into my mouth again. His fingers laced into my hair as he grappled for control.

Ever so slowly, I worked more and more of his length into my mouth, ascending and descending the length until I could take no more. I continued the same motion, applying more suction and more teasing flicks of my tongue until I couldn't even hear my own heartbeat over the slick sounds of sex, his breathless moans and harsh breathing, and the pounding rhythm of the water. I felt his fingers tighten in my hair as I increased my pace. His groan was husky and needy and _sweet mother of mercy,_ sucking him off shouldn't get me so goddamn hot! But it did.

I mean, hell, the way the man _breathed_ got me hot. I loved the way he smelled, the way he tasted, those sexy sounds he made, those lusty heavy-lidded eyes, those plump parted lips, the panting of his breathing… With all the points tallied, it was bizarre that I found it so strange, but it was nonetheless true.

I took a moment to nip at him gently before resuming my pace. The sound he released was so sexy that I was surprised it hadn't pushed me over the edge. Smiling again –or trying to, anyway– I sunk back down, taking in as much of him as I could and noting with pleasure that it was about half an inch more of him than last time. Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I began to hum softly. His body jerked, startled at the new sensation, but I didn't stop. Instead, I increased my humming and picked a rapid tempo to move to. His fingers clenched in my hair and he panted my name, urging me on.

His hips began to move restlessly against the hand that held them back, so I picked up the pace and increased the suction until he released a particularly glorious sound.

"Ed," he warned, breathlessly.

I knew what he was trying to say, even with just my name. in response, I added a brisk swipe of my tongue to the combination of sensations.

The heady way he moaned my name was my reward –not my only reward, mind you, seeing as that particular combination of sensations sent him over the edge and spiraling into ecstasy. His seed filled my mouth in a rush and I hurried to keep up with the amount that was suddenly in my mouth and dribbling down my chin. I swallowed greedily around his sensitive length and he moaned again. Wanting to chuckle, I released him from my mouth and tried to catch each drop of him. When I moved the hand that had pinned his hips where I pleased, he slid down the wall bonelessly and reached out for me.

When enough time had passed that he had managed to catch his breath, I was surprised to feel his hands gently pushing my knees further apart. His hand wrapped around my swollen length and I trembled. He leaned forward, his lips parted to whisper every dirty thought imaginable in my ear as he took a brisk pace with his hand. With the combination of his husky, smoky voice and the sensations he was taking so much pleasure in causing, it didn't take all that long for the pleasure to curl tightly inside my stomach and send me spiraling into bliss.

I panted, harshly laughing for joy as I pulled his lips back to mine so I could kiss him instead of catching my breath. I wanted so much to taste him that it seemed oxygen was less important, in the grand scheme of things. I could feel his smile when our lips met, could almost taste the mirror of my own joy in his kiss. All we did was kiss, a series of deep passionate affairs, until I recovered suitable.

Still smiling at him, I sat back on my heels. Now we both sat on the floor of the shower, hot water pouring on our heads as we smiled at each other like fools caught in a rainstorm. Smoothly, I retrieved the bottle of body wash and squeezed some out into my hand. With a half smile, I steadily began to wash his cock and his thighs, careful to clean away every little drop of come.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly, evidently enjoying my touch but curious as to the significance of my actions.

"I'm taking care of you," I replied, my tone as gentle as my touch. For some reason, I had to smile at him again. He leaned forward and kissed me, a long, gentle kiss that spoke more of something I couldn't quite figure out than of any need. Finding the body wash, he returned the favor as well, though he had further to venture to clean away all of evidence of our time together. Both unsteady on our feet, we had to help each other to a standing position. When we stepped under the spray, I kissed him once more, wanting to memorize the taste of him as the water pounded on our skin.

I turned off the water and pulled three clean towels out of the cabinet. After handing one to him, I briskly dried off my body with one before carefully tucking it so it wouldn't fall off my hips. Then I used the other towel on my hair, drying it with a brisk efficiency, only to realize that Roy was staring as though mesmerized by the entire process. I smiled. A hint of color graced his cheeks as he finished drying himself off.

Taking his hand, I led my now-drowsy lover to my bed and dug out a pair of large, baggy sleep pants I somehow inherited out of my dresser and handed them to him.

He gave me a sideways look.

I chuckled. "Just wear them. I'll wash your clothes for tomorrow, okay?"

I pulled my own pair of pajama pants out of the dresser and pulled them on, discarding the towels in a pile on the floor. When I turned around, he had followed suit and his towel lay atop of my own.

I wandered over to him to kiss him again. "Go ahead and get some sleep. I'll be back in a few; I gotta start the wash."

His nod was slow, betraying his drowsiness. Taking a moment, I watched him crawl into my bed before I started retrieving the various pieces of clothing that had been discarded all over my room. They were quickly piled on the damp towels. I wondered over to my closet and retrieved my laundry basket and the dirtied sheets before tossing the pile from the floor into the basket as well. I grabbed the detergent and dryer sheets and placed them at one end of the basket. Before I even left my bedroom, Roy was asleep. I couldn't help but smile as I started for the laundry room, pausing in the living room to gather the rest of his clothes. Figuring it wouldn't do any harm, I decided to just stay in the laundry room and finish the whole laundry shuffle before heading back to my apartment.

When I came back with a basket full of clean, dry, folded clothes, Roy was still asleep. He smelled like my shampoo and my body wash and I loved it. The lingering scents were the only things that said he'd been mine, even just for an instant –well, aside from that one little love bite that I was going to allow him to blame on anything or _anyone _else. I climbed into my bed. Like a reflex action, his body reached out for me and curled tightly against me. His arms wrapped firmly around me and I couldn't contain my smile.

I watched him for a moment. He seemed so peaceful and so completely relaxed in his sleep, the antithesis of how he had been earlier tonight. At least I could do that for him. Even if our time together had been so selfishly for me, at least he seemed at peace for now. Leaning over, I pressed a light chaste kiss to his lips.

I pulled the blankets up snugly around him and turned to lay on my side, my bare back against his smooth, warm chest. Expressionless and pretty much emotionally drained from over thinking things, I fell asleep pretty quickly, strangely comfortable in the arms of a man who would never be mine for more than just one night.

* * *

_Roy:_

My eyes opened suddenly and I looked up at a semi-familiar ceiling. My head was pounding and my stomach was doing sick summersaults, two symptoms indicative of a long night of drinking, and I was in an unfamiliar room. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think, but I found that it only made my headache that much worse. Wincing, I shifted slightly, only to realize that there was a body pressed against mine. Actually, I had my arms wrapped tightly around them, as though to prevent their escape. Long, silky hair brushed against the bare skin of my chest and I looked down.

_Oh, hell,_ I thought to myself in despair. It was Edward Elric. I was in the same bed as _Edward Elric_, my subordinate and the star of my many inappropriate fantasies. And, coincidentally, I was holding him to my chest like he was the most valuable thing in existence and I thought someone would try to steal him from me.

Desperately, I tried to remember the night before. Some of it came back readily: the bar, the whiskey, Maes, Ed paying off the tab. I could even remember walking into his apartment with him! When I tried to push past that point in my memory, however, I was faced with a void –or a few choice vivid, torrid images of the best sex of my life in his bed and showering together.

_Did I do something terribly stupid again?_

_Did I come on to him?_

_Did we… again?_

Of course, I was asking myself these questions just in time for Ed to shift onto his back and open his lovely, sleepy golden eyes. The drowsiness quickly left his gaze, and he turned that intense golden gaze on me.

"Good morning," he greeted, carefully and neatly extracting himself from my embrace like it was a fairly standard sort of weirdness that he wasn't fond of. "You're a very literal drunk; did you know that? And you cling like Al does when he's had too much."

He wasn't freaking out, swearing at me, or hitting me. Those were all good signs. Plus, he compared me to his brother. Obviously, I hadn't done anything horrible and I hadn't come onto him. The images in my head were brought on his proximity, my feelings, and my libido. What else _could_ have caused them? Obviously not Ed, _especially_ since he'd compared me to his brother. You just _don't_ compare a guy you slept with to your younger brother.

"Thank God it's Saturday," I declared, trying to smile but finding that even that made my head hurt worse. _Ugh, I hate being hung-over._

Ed smiled at me kindly and crawled out of the bed. "Bathroom's that way," he directed, pointing at the open door. "Your clothes are clean and in the basket. Feel free to use the shower. It's pretty standard. The towels are in the cabinet. Don't puke on my bed, okay? You're looking a little sick." He strode toward the door but stopped before he reached the handle. "Oh yeah, I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

As he left, I couldn't help but watch his ass sway as he walked. I'd be damned if he wasn't too sexy for his own good in baggy pajama pants! _Only my sanity and libido suffer from his innate sensuality,_ I mused to myself. _Well, that and my conscious._

Not even two minutes later, before I had summoned enough equilibrium to crawl out of the bed, Ed popped back into the room. With a bit of a smirk, he set a glass of water on the bedside table and handed me two little blue pills. "For your head," he offered before disappearing again.

I couldn't help but think him incredibly sweet as I tossed the pills in my mouth and reached for the glass.

* * *

_Ed:_

After returning to the kitchen, I leaned back against the counter and pointedly ignored the pain that was radiating from my lower half. It was funny: I felt about as sick as he looked. At least _he _had an excuse: he had drank a hell of a lot of whiskey to drown out the screams of innocents on the anniversary of their deaths. I had a reason, as well. It just happened to be a whole hell of a lot more self-inflicted than his.

Honestly, I couldn't believe that I'd managed to lie through my teeth to Mustang without him noticing a thing. More than that, I was beginning to doubt my stupid resolution that having him once was better than not at all. I was pretty sure that the better decision would have been not at all. Roy Mustang was like one of those drugs that you could take once and suddenly find yourself unfortunately addicted and frantically craving your next fix. And I had been the fool that thought once would be enough.

_How ironic is that,_ I mocked myself.

I moved from the counter to begin making breakfast. As I removed the necessary ingredients from the fridge, I froze when I felt a single tear slip down my cheek. I forced my legs to move, to carry me toward the stove and the toaster. With a sigh, I took the time to set the eggs, milk, cheese, bacon, butter, and jam on the counter beside the stove before I allowed myself to take a moment.

How could I pretend that nothing had happened, that nothing had changed between us? I loved him so much! He haunted my thoughts, my dreams, my fantasies. How on earth could I pretend that last night was no more solid that a wisp of smoke?

_You should have thought about that before you gave into your urges. It was _your_ stupid decision._

I wiped the tear off my cheek and took a deep breath. It wouldn't be good if he caught me crying. Not only would I not be able to explain it away suitable, I would never hear the end of the stupid thing. The last thing I needed to be reminded of was my own weakness. That was what got me into this whole mess to begin with.

I spurred myself into action after that. After retrieving my favorite bowl and two frying pans from the cupboard, I set them on the small gas stove before grabbing the other necessary instruments.. On auto pilot, I began to cook the bacon and prepare the egg concoction I would be using. It took only a moment to retrieve the salt and pepper, which I added to the mixture by sight. Then I grabbed the bread from atop the fridge and set it beside the toaster. Pouring the egg mixture into the empty pan, I flicked the dial and lit the burner. While things were cooking, I put away the rest of the ingredients before returning to the stove to make sure I hadn't burnt breakfast.

I had barely checked my work-in-progress when I heard a knock at my door. Trying not to scowl, I turned the heat beneath the pans down to low and stalked over to the door. After checking the peephole and recognizing the face, I opened the door to look at Hughes. "Hey. What's up?"

"I just stopped by Roy's house, but he wasn't there. I was hoping he was with you?" Despite being the best friend of the master of masks, he failed to hide his concern at all. Not that it was his way: Hughes was always openly concerned about his friends. He could hide pretty much anything else, but that concern was always recognizable.

I allowed my lips to quirk into a smile as I thought about the _other_ way that could be taken. "Yeah, he's here. He's got one hell of a hangover, though. With the amount he drank I'm surprised it wasn't alcohol poisoning instead. Still wouldn't go near him on a bet, either way."

His smile showed his relief. "Well, then he's in good hands." He glanced around the apartment briefly, then cocked his head at me. "Where's Al?"

"He's in Resembool, visiting Winry," I told him, smiling again. "Honestly, I'm just glad he's _finally_ ready to admit how crazy he is about her. You want to come in? Breakfast is almost ready and I'm sure there's enough for three."

He looked sorely tempted. "Well, you know your breakfast is too good of an offer to pass up, but I ate with Gracia before I came."

I shrugged. "Your loss. You want to check on him before you leave? You know, make sure I didn't kill him in his sleep?" I asked him wryly.

"Why would you want to do that, Full Metal?" asked Mustang as he wondered into the kitchen. His hair was damp and he was barefoot. He looked so thoroughly delicious that I couldn't _believe_ he was in my kitchen, dressed like that.

"Because you, Colonel, are clingy as all hell when you're drunk," I replied. "Now. You" –here I pointed at Roy– "go sit down in the living room and talk to him." I punctuated my order with a finger pointed at Hughes. "As for me, I'm going to go be responsible and make sure breakfast doesn't burn."

They chattered in the living room while I finished cooking breakfast and started a pot of coffee –I didn't drink it, but it was practically a requirement if one expected Mustang to act like a civil human. Although, I was surprised that Mustang was in a humane mood without his coffee. It must have been the shower this morning. Besides, hydration was important to help him overcome a hangover.

I served up three plates –knowing that once Hughes smelled it, he wouldn't be able to resist the bacon, anyway– and poured orange juice into glasses. It took less than a minute to finish setting the table.

"Breakfast time!" I called to the two of them, even as I filled another glass of water for Mustang.

_It's so much easier to pretend nothing happened when I'm busy or there's someone else around,_ I noticed. Solemnly, I resolved to not allow myself to be in close proximity to him with no one else near. There was nothing like experience to teach you the dangers of temptation. And it had never been a life-goal of mine to end up as a pile of ash. So I could keep my distance, so I would not spill the secret that I needed so desperately to keep from him. After all, it's the secrets we hide in the deepest parts of our hearts that are the most dangerous.

I put on a smile when they came into the kitchen. Laughing, smiling, joking –anything to keep up my façade. Anything to hide my secrets. After all, I've always been good with secrets.

* * *

**Even though it's been around four years since I originally wrote this, people are still stumbling onto it and enjoying it. I hope that these revisions make it better than it was –I certainly believe they do! These revisions, all tolled, increase the length of this piece by nearly 4,000 words. I hope that each and every word I added, changed, or rearranged made this piece that much better for all of you!**

**I welcome any reviews/PM in regards to the changes I made to this story. I'm actually getting ready to begin revisions on the sequel to this story, "Love You Out Loud". Please be aware that I may find it beneficial to change the title of the second part (although I'll probably keep it). **

**Please let me know how you like this newer update of "The Secrets We Keep"!**

**Ever yours, humbly,  
~Sins~**

* * *

_Original story published: 10/01/2009. Extensive revisions: 01/28/2013_


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